'The Magician' or: Life During Wartime

Previously: Boy, that Daytona Diamonds sure is on a tear! Money! Marriage! Drug habits kicked, wrasslin’ matches won, and a goddang jetski to boot! Lissen, y'all probably know this ol’ song n’ dance by now. The Rhinestone Cowboy, after beating his demons and Brandon Youngblood and winning his first tag match, he's feelin’ like the sky's the limit. It's no wonder George Giorgio Jorgensen, talent agent to the stars, came knockin’ at Daytona's door with the promise of riches and old dreams realized. Sure is a shame how Daytona handled teamin’ up with Donny Winters, but I reckon that just goes there ain't no such thing as friendship in the wild west, huh?

And now, here we find Daytona Diamonds crossin’ the Atlantic on his most faithful steed, bound for Europe and all those forgotten shores. WarGames was waitin’, for better or for worse…

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I. This Ain't No Party

At night the stars poured like milk ‘cross the sky.

I slept in my saddle, the jetski my horse and the ocean my desert. Every mornin’, I was roused awake by a dreamsicle orange glow on the horizon and the Octane's engines whirrin’ ‘neath the waves. I’d installed a waterproof cargobox on the back, so I'd reach on back there and fish out a pack of cigarettes, a canned coffee, and just sit there, lettin’ the Octane tow me along while I enjoyed my mornin’ ritual. Top off the gas tank, take a piss off the side. ‘Round ten, I'd unhook myself from the battleship and start rippin’ like a sonuvabitch, free as a dolphin on the crest of a high and beautiful wave.

I reckon most people thought I was crazy, but most people ain't Daytona Diamonds. Crossin’ the Atlantic on a jetski served more purposes than most people woulda thunk: 1) I weren't ‘bout to leave my baby back behind in New Jersey. You seen the kinda folks that live there? Fuckin’ peckerwoods. 2) I trusted them eGG Bandits ‘bout as far as I could throw ‘em. Coral, Cancer, the fat one, the short one. You seen the kinda people they are? Fuckin’ peckerwoods. 3) I weren't ‘bout to spend a goddang week-and-a-half on a goddang boat with goddang Donny Winters. Pecker. Fuckin’. Wood.

Least Big Hess was alright. Mostly ‘cause he was big and scary and I weren't gonna say otherwise. You don't call a man like that a peckerwood; ‘specially when his pecker's probably ‘bout as big as your forearm.

Bambi weren't happy ‘bout my little plan, though. Pissed as all get out, in fact. Soon as I told her, she was screamin’ and shoutin’ and causin’ a scene right there in the middle of Red Lobster. I said, “Honey, c'mon now! You're bawlin’ all over the cheddar bay biscuits!”, but hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman who just found out her husband was ‘bout to cross the ocean via jetski.

“Daytona,” she said, real slow. “I've put up with a lot of bullshit from you. A lot. If you do this? I'm done. No more!”

“Now, don't be like that,” I told her. “Ain’t no call for it. Ain't no big deal! I'll be ridin’ behind that fuckin’ aircraft carrier the whole dang time! I'll be fi–”

“Daytona, you're not listening,” she said. “I'm not going to wait around worrying again just because you got a wild hair!”

“Well, I'm gonna do it,” I told her. “Ain't like I need your permission or nothin’. We might be married, but you ain't no warden.”

Guess she didn't like the sound of that ‘cause she was stood up, grabbed her purse, and hightailed it towards the door. Whole time, she was shoutin’ ‘bout divorcin’ me and this and that. People were starin', but what's a man to do, huh? Danged if you do, danged if you don't. I turnt my attention back to my Admiral's Feast and let her go. If life’s taught me one thing it’s that you ain’t ‘sposed to chase after no women, whether you wifed ‘em or not. Ain’t worth the trouble, ain’t worth the hassle, ain’t worth your goddang time. Most of ‘em are like boomerangs anyway. You give ‘em enough distance, they’re gonna come right back to you. Just you wait and see.

By the time I got home, half her shit was done packed up and she'd trotted off to stay with her mama.

Anyway, ‘nough ‘bout all that silly love and woe shit. There I was on my jetski, miles removed from the good ol’ USA and bound for a European vacation. Way it worked was I'd stashed all my necessities on board the Octane; food, water, carton of smokes, gasoline, some nudie mags in case I needed to yuck my yum. I'd ride ‘round all day then hitch myself to the Octane at night. Climb on board, grab everything I'd be needin’ for the next day, and get on back to the jetski ‘fore any of those chucklefucks were any wiser. Stole a couple pieces of fried chicken from a pile I found in the freezer, but I was livin’ mostly off beef jerky, tater chips, and canned food.

I was ready for Europe and single-ish enough to get freaky with some eurotrash. I was ready for WarGames and didn’t even have to interact with my good-for-nothin’ team, god bless ‘em. The Rhinestone Cowboy was turnin’ it all ‘round, makin' good on all that potential.

What I weren’t ready for, though… was the island.

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II. This Ain't No Disco

It was probably the fourth or fifth or sixth day. We were right smack dab in the middle of the ocean. Time didn’t make no sense out there and it didn’t matter neither. That ol’ sun was dippin’ down on the horizon, bright as the day of God’s creation. The water looked like it was full-a diamonds and that seemed appropriate considerin’ I’d done made it my own. The Octane was up ahead, cruisin’ right along. I’d been ridin’ and treatin’ those waves like a ballroom for my jetski’s little dance, but with night approachin’, my eyelids had gone heavy and I kept dozin’ in and out of the wakin’ world.

I reckon too much of a good thing has a way of catchin’ up with you, don't it?

Next time I opened my eyes, everything was pitch black. The Octane weren't nowhere to be seen. I could hear the waves ‘neath me, lappin’ at the side of my jetski. I ain't gonna lie; my heart started poundin’ ‘gainst my chest like it was tryna break free and go for a skinny dip. I turnt the key in the ignition and the engine just sputtered, outta gas. I started speakin’ in curses, strings of cuss words spillin’ out my mouth at a million miles per minute.

I ain't never thought too much ‘bout the afterlife, but I reckon’ that might be what it felt like: floatin’ blind through purgatory's sweet nothin’, your everlastin’ soul cussin’ up a storm ‘cause it ain't got nothin’ better to do. In those endless hours, I saw ships ridin’ on the horizon every once in a while, twinklin’ lights as good as a million miles away, but that didn't stop me from wavin’ my arms and screamin’ my lungs out. Weren't no use, but hope’s a sonuvabitch and desperation’ll do funny things to a man. Eventually, I didn't see no more ships. All I saw were the stars in the sky, constellations hung up like garland on a Christmas tree, the universe's gapin’ maw openin’ wide to swallow me whole.

I gave myself over to it like a gift.

I must've passed out from exhaustion ‘cause, the next time I blinked, I opened my eyes to a clear and beautiful day. I reached up and wiped the sleep and sea salt outta my eyes, both narrowin’ in unison to look around. There in the distance, not too far away, I saw land.

You believe in serendipity? Divine intervention? I used to not, but I reckon seein’ that island might've made me reconsider. I hobbled back and forth on my jetski, tryna guide it towards the beach, ‘til the waves caught me and carried me the rest of the way. The jetski made landfall on a white-sand beach. Couldn't’ve been more’n two-thousand square feet. Palm trees swayed where the sand met the beachgrass, half-buried coconuts peekin’ up from ‘neath the ground.

I climbed off the jetski and dragged it up on the beach for safekeepin’. I reckon that was when the survival instincts were ‘sposed to kick in, but I just stood there with my hands on my hips and my toes in the sand, wonderin’ what I was 'sposed to do next. My mind started bouncin’ round like a pinball, ‘tween reruns of Man vs Wild and Gilligan's Island.

First and foremost, supplies. I ransacked my little cargobox and laid out all my belongin’s right there on the beach: two bags of beef jerky, three bottles of water, a can of Red Bull, half-smoked pack of Marlboro Lights, a Penthouse from October 2007, a Zippo lighter, and an empty gas can. I weren't exactly thrivin’, but we gotta work with what we got, right?

I built myself a half-assed shelter outta some sticks and palm fronds ‘fore I started gatherin’ up coconuts to spell out a message on the beach. It read: “I CULD USE SUM FUKN HELP HERE”. I figured that'd get the point across.

And then a little voice spoke in the back of my head, quiet as a mouse and soft as a whisper: Sure wish you hadn't flushed that baggy of coke, huh…?

I told it to shut the fuck up.

Isolation does somethin’ to a man. The whole time I was tryna come up with a survival plan, I kept on thinkin’ ‘bout things I'd rather not thing about. How Bambi was right. How ridin’ a jetski ‘cross the ocean was the dumbest fuckin’ idea anyone had ever had. How I'd really been hard on Frankie even if he deserved it, how my dad was gonna probably die soon and how I couldn't wrap my head ‘round a world without him in it, how Larry Lawson was rottin’ in the ground and I was probably at least partially at fault. I thought ‘bout all that and I guess I started beatin’ myself up a little bit ‘cause it weren't long ‘til I started thinkin’ bout wrasslin’

Wrasslin’. Only thing I've ever been good at, for better or worse. I ain't even tryna toot my own horn; I'm just statin’ facts. S’why Coral drafted me onto his team; ‘cause I'm fuckin’ good, in spite of myself, in spite of everything. And what do I go and do to thank him? Act like a goddang asshole and refuse to so much as talk with the team. I guess that’s just par for the course, ain’t it? I ain’t never been no team player; ol’ Donny can attest to that.

I guess that begs the question, why? Am I really so much of an asshole that I can’t play nice for my own benefit? Maybe it’s a fear of disappointment; lettin’ others depend on me when I couldn’t even depend on myself. Ain’t like them boys ever did nothin’ to hurt me; even Donny, despite all that holy roller mumbo-jumbo. Shit, maybe I’m just more broken than I’d like to admit, a few screws too loose and somethin’ rattlin’ up in that head of mine that should’ve been stapled down years ago.

I sat on that beach contemplatin’ and agonizin’. I reckon that's what introspection really feels like; a whole bunch of agony with a dollop of guilt on top.

Dinner that night was teriyaki-flavored beef jerky, bottled water-slash-backspit, and two cigarettes. Should’ve probably been more conservative, but fuck it. Ain’t like I was gonna go full Tommy Hanks, build a raft, and all that shit. Not my style. That island would be my final restin’ place; I was already plannin’ on goin’ out on my own terms. There’d be memorials for me. People would be askin’ what might’ve been; gone too soon, swallowed by the tide. I kept wonderin’ who’d Coral rope into replacin’ me at Culture Shock.

My money was on Freddy Dick.

The sun was settin’. Stars were bleedin’ into existence, the whole world feelin’ like it’d stopped spinnin’ and gotten stuck there and then, in that particular moment, with just me to see it. Would’ve been downright magical if it weren’t for all the existential dread. Would’ve been great if Bambi were there…

What a way to fuckin' go.

I crawled up ‘neath them palm fronds; no pillow, no blanket, no nothin’. Truth be told, after a few days of sleepin’ upright on a jetski, the simple act of layin’ down and curlin’ up felt like enough. I closed my eyes and settled in, but my mind didn't stop wanderin’ ‘round in circles. WarGames. Bambi. Infinite regrets. My own inevitable demise. Probably natural, ain't it? When you're faced with starvation and dyin’ alone, your life don't so much flash ‘fore your eyes as it does slowly unfurl itself.

I might've cried a little bit, but don't tell no one.

…and right around then was when the spotlights lit up the island like noon in the dead of night. They came from overhead, paired by the sound of whirlin’ helicopter blades. I sat up and blocked the light with my hand, squintin’ just as a voice called out through a loudspeaker like the voice of God.

“ARE YOU DAYTONA DIAMONDS?”

“...yes?”

“THE PACKAGE IS SECURE. MOVE IN.”

Fifteen goddang jetskis descended on that fuckin’ Island, each one driven by blackclad men with ‘TOMCAT TALENT’ emblazoned 'cross their chests. One of them jerked me up from the sand, balaclava hidin’ his face. He lifted up an iPad and on it was the face of George Giorgio Jorgensen starin’ back at me.

“Daytona! You okay?!”

“…what?! What the hell’s goin’ on, Jorgensen?!”

“We’re saving your ass is what’s going on! We saw you’d stopped moving and I sent out a rescue team! Tomcat Talent takes care of its own, even the ones we haven’t signed yet!”

“Wait… how'd you find me?! You trackin’ me?!”

“Well… yeah? After you said you were going across the ocean, I had my team plant a tracker on your jetski. For your own safety, Daytona!”

“Goddammit! I didn’t consent to that, Jorgensen!”

“Well, I knew you wouldn’t. Aren’t you glad I didn’t ask?”

I sneered.

“We’ve got a yacht a few miles offshore,” Jorgensen said. “We’re getting you on board and transporting you the rest of the way to Wales. You ever ridden a helicopter before, Daytona? You’re in for a fucking treat.”

“Wait, wait,,” I said. “Nope. No. I ‘precitate the help, Jorgensen, but I said I was crossin’ this ocean on a jetski and, by fuckin’ god, I’m gonna do it. Have your boys fill up the tank! I’ve got a battleship to catch up with!”

“Daytona, you should really reconsi–”

“You want me to sign with you or not, Jorgensen?”

I reckon that thinly veiled threat put the fear in him ‘cause next thing I knew, Jorgensen was commandin’ his troops to get the jetski runnin' and escort me back to the Octane. By the time we were all loaded up, the sun was peekin’ up in the distance. One of Jorgensen’s boys looked over at me as I turned the key in the ignition and asked, “Mr. Diamonds, are you ready to go, sir?”

“Sure as shit am,” I said. “Let’s fuckin’ ride.”

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III. This Ain't No Foolin’ Around

There’s a thin line where bravery ends and stupidity begins. I’ve always rode that line with everything I’ve got, a balancin’ act on a tightrope made outta my own stubbornness. As I rode that jetski ‘cross the Atlantic, fifteen men on their own sea-doos and a goddang superyacht followin’ behind me, I reckon I wondered which one I was bein’.

“Mr. Diamonds,” a voice said over a walkie-talkie. “The Octane has been located two nautical miles ahead of us. It looks like they’ve run aground on a sandbar.”

“Well, shitfire!” I called back. “C’mon, boys! We gotta save my goddang team!”

Maybe I didn’t owe Coral and his troupe of dysfunctional weirdos jackshit, maybe I was just feelin’ generous, maybe I was just leanin’ towards ‘stupid’ instead of ‘brave’, but it didn’t matter none. Fact was, we had a WarGames match to win, whether I liked it or not, and I couldn’t be doin’ that alone, now could I? Besides, the ocean’s a fuckin’ bitch; I wasn’t ‘bout to let it claim no one for itself. Not if I had anything to say ‘bout it.

The jetskis all moved in unison, a goddang platoon of well-oiled machines ridin’ those waves for all they were worth. From the yacht’s speakers, “Panama” by Van Halen was playin’ and I told ‘em to blast that shit loud as they could. I saw the Octane up in the distance, stuck as a dick in a vacuum cleaner. It was time to be a goddang hero.

We rode up beside that big ship and started strappin’ ourselves to it, tyin’ ropes to its hull wherever we could. I got over a megaphone and shouted, “Now, how’d y’all dicknoses manage to get this big'un stuck?! You didn't let Bobby drive, didja? Don't you worry, the cavalry's here!”

All at once, the jetskis started tuggin’ and I’ll be damned if the Octane didn’t start movin’. Little by little, inch by inch, foot by foot until… baby, we were back on the ocean blue, fifteen waterbound horses drawin’ a battleship-sized carriage ‘cross the goddang Atlantic.

After it was all said and done, the Octane’s engines started up again and Jorgensen’s boys left us to it. I climbed on board to receive my flowers. Big Hess even gave me a personal invitation to his neck of the woods; mighty white of him, even if he’s still big enough to scare the bejesus outta me. Coral said he knew I’d come ‘round and I figure that made me want to punch him right in the forehead, but I didn't. A thumbs up from Cancer, a handshake from Gamble I had to kneel down to for, and Bobby beggin’ to play a boardgame with me. I reckon this is the part where I’m ‘sposed to say teamwork makes the dream work, ain’t it? Talk real good ‘bout the power of friendship, how havin’ a team at your back does wonders to make you feel a little bit less alone in this ol’ world, but I ain’t gonna do it. Nope. I’m just gonna say it felt real nice bein’ a part of somethin’, even if that somethin’ still made my skin crawl.

And Donny? Well, I ran into him just as I was ‘bout to get back on my jetski… He was standin’ there in a hallway like he'd been waitin’ for me, arms crossed over his chest and a sour look on his face. I started to just keep on walkin’, shove on past and ignore him, but I didn’t. I stopped, tiltin’ my head and bitin’ my tongue ‘til I found the right words.

“We good, Donny?”

“I don’t know, Daytona,” he said. “Are we?”

I thought ‘bout that for a minute. Here was a man who had woven his way into my career in a way that most people never could’ve dreamed. A rival, a teammate, a fuckin’ thorn in my side. I bowed my head down and looked at the ground, one of them real long, beleaguered sighs pourin’ out from my chest. “Look, Donny,” I said. “I’m sorry ‘bout the way things went after our tag match. That whole… crucifixion thing. I should’ve had your back and I didn’t. I ain’t never been a team player before, you get me? Ain’t never been part of my DNA.”

“I get it,” he said. “But… you let me down, Daytona. I want you to know that.”

“Yeah, well, wouldn’t be the first time and probably won’t be the last,” I said. “I’ll make it right, though. WarGames. I’ve got your fuckin’ back out there, whether you got mine or not. Cowboys for Christ, forever.”

Donny shrugged his shoulders and nodded as I extended my hand. He didn’t shake it and I can understand why. He walked away, I stood there watchin’. This weren’t the end of our little thing. I knew it and I’d say he did too. But right then? Well, we both had other things on our minds.

I climbed back down from the Octane and got on my faithful steed. The key turned in the ignition and that engine purred like a newborn kitten.

The ocean kissed my cheek with sea-salt and I zoomed off like a bat outta hell, wind in my hair and Wales waitin' to make my acquantince.